Triple Threat
by lildreamer7
Summary: UPDATED! A killer so diabolical, so dangerous, so deadly will attract the attention of CSIs across the nation...Full summary inside. Various pairings. Crossover with Miami and NY.
1. Wednesday Evening

**Title:** Triple Threat

**Author:** lildreamer

**Rating:** T for violence and disturbing images

**Pairings:** Various pairings—Grillows, Snickers, HC, SMacked, and others…

**Spoilers:** There will be several references to certain episodes from all three CSIs. I will let you know at the beginning of each chapter what they are. This chapter contains a tiny spoiler for Fannysmackin'.

**Summary:** One killer so diabolical, so dangerous, so deadly will attract the attention of CSIs across the nation when he pulls off the greatest crime the CSIs have ever witnessed. Three very different teams of CSIs will be drawn together only to find themselves thrown into the killer's deadly game where the only way to win...is to lose.

It's a race against time and deadly betrayal. They are all about to be tested to the very limit. And they are prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice. Because ultimately, one of them will lose this fight...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own of the CSIs or any of its characters. This story is fictional; any similarities to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The song "Bless the Broken Road" belongs to Rascal Flatts.

**A/N:** Crossovers will appear later on in the story. Also, for those of you wondering about my other story—due to popular demand it may return and be updated soon. Thanx 4 all the reviews!

**All right, on with the story…

* * *

**

Greg Sanders walked into the ballroom of the Tangiers and stood there for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The place looked positively breathtaking. The room was huge and full of life, celebrating the LVPD's many years in service. Its walls were decorated with sparkling ribbons and garlands. Small, round tables were arranged in neat rows throughout most of the room. Candles flickered softly on the tabletops, creating a soothing glow. On the bandstand, a five-piece combo played pop classics while couples danced the night away. Of all the casinos that Catherine's father owned, this one was the most impressive.

"Hey, Greg!" a familiar voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. "Over here!"

The young CSI glanced around the room and spotted Nick, Warrick, and Tina sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the room. Nick was waving him over and patting the empty seat next to him. Greg chuckled to himself as he went over to join them.

"Hi, guys!"

"Wow, look at you," Warrick smiled. "Neat hair. Nice suit. Not bad, not bad at all."

"Why, thank you," Greg replied, taking a seat. "Where is everyone?"

"Grissom and Brass are over by the bar, talking." Nick gestured toward the counter a few feet away where it seemed the said men were having a deep discussion. "The girls aren't here yet."

"They're probably still getting ready," Warrick said. "Women take forever. You know, with the make-up and the hair..."

"Hey!" His wife slapped his arm playfully, slightly offended.

Warrick opened his mouth for a comeback but immediately shut it when he saw Grissom and Brass come up to their table and take seats near Greg.

"They here yet?" Brass asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Warrick and Nick shook their heads.

"Hi, Greg," Grissom greeted, noticing the young CSI. "Nice suit."

"Thanks."

Tina turned away from the guys to let them talk and that's when she saw them. "Wow, they look beautiful." She stared past the guys at the three women who had just appeared at the entrance.

"Huh?" Warrick followed his wife's gaze and had to do a double take when he saw them. "Whoa..."

"What are you guys staring at?" Nick asked as he and everyone else turned around to see what had caught their friend's attention. "Wow..."

Everyone's eyes grew wide, their jaws hitting the ground.

It was Catherine, Sara, and Sofia, but they didn't look like themselves at all. Catherine had her hair pulled up into an elegant knot. And she looked dazzling in a flowing, baby blue gown. Sara kept her hair down, but it was wavier than usual. She looked stunning in a lilac colored gown. Sofia had her hair tied into an elegant braid. And her long, white gown accentuated her curves perfectly.

The ladies glanced around nervously searching for familiar faces. Catherine met Sam Braun's gaze, who was grabbing a couple of drinks at the bar. He smiled and winked at her then discreetly gestured toward the table they were most likely searching for. The ladies smiled shyly, spotting the guys staring at them.

The female CSIs and the female detective made their way over to the table, turning more heads as they did.

"Hi, guys," Catherine greeted, smiling.

"Hey, girls," Tina said giving each one a welcoming hug.

"You three look...amazing," Brass complimented.

"Thank you," Sofia replied as all of their faces turned pink.

"Yeah, you all look pretty girl--er--pretty good." Greg blushed, catching his slip. "Good--you look good."

Everyone laughed as Greg's face turned even redder.

"Man, I have been hanging out with the wrong people," Nick drawled.

"Gee, thanks," Warrick said, giving him a wry smile.

His eyes met with Catherine's for a moment and he almost felt wistful. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, but then she turned to talk to Brass. If only things had been different...

"I've never seen three lovelier ladies," Grissom smiled. His eyes lingered on Sara, momentarily, but she didn't seem to notice. She was gazing outside at the balcony, her face troubled. Her mind seemed to be some place else.

"I'm gonna go say 'hi' to my dad," Catherine said, walking away from the table.

Warrick turned to his wife as he stood from his seat. "And Iam going to get us a couple of drinks."

Greg stood from his own seat.

"Where are _you_ going?" Nick asked knowingly.

The young CSI grinned. "I'm gonna go mingle with the ladies."

Nick shook his head, amused. "Good luck with that."

With all the commotion, no one seemed to notice that Sara had also walked away and was now headed toward the balcony she'd been staring at moments ago.

* * *

It was quieter on the balcony and that was exactly what she needed right now. Sara's mind had been wandering the entire day. She had had a hard time concentrating on everything. In fact, she was partially to blame for the ladies' tardiness. But that had all been forgiven and forgotten and she wanted to move on. But she couldn't get the dream out of her head.

Sara just stood there with her arms crossed, looking up at the moon.

Nick came up behind her. "Hey, you okay?"

While everyone else was busy enjoying the festivities, he had wandered outside for some peace and quiet and had found her there. He had watched her for a moment, noticing the troubled look on her face, before he made his presence known.

"Yeah." Sara shrugged. "It's nothing. Just...a feeling. I don't know. Bad dreams I guess."

"I have those, too," Nick said, recalling the nightmares he'd been having since he'd been buried alive. "We all do. You can't do what we do and not have it bother you. What's the dream about? What happened to Greg?"

"No, not Greg," Sara answered. "At least not directly. It's...it's dumb. There's...something. I don't even know what it is. But it's not a good thing. And it asks me to make a choice. In the dream I have to decide who lives and who dies."

Nick moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder. He couldn't help but notice that there were goosebumps on her bare arms.

"I never used to be afraid, Nick," she sighed. "Not of anything. And now it's like I'm afraid all the time."

"You deal with it, though," Nick said. It made him nervous talking about feelings like this. "You always deal with it."

"So far," Sara said softly. "So far."

Soft music suddenly began to stream into the night from inside, catching their attention. They both looked up and glanced inside to see people gathering onto the dance floor.

Nick turned to Sara and gave her his most charming smile. "Hey, aren't we supposed to be having fun tonight?" He offered her his hand. "May I?"

Sara looked down at his hand then back up to his face, taken by surprise. "Oh...um...okay."

_I set out on a narrow way many years ago  
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road  
But I got lost a time or two  
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through  
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you_

_  
Every long lost dream led me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true  
That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you_

Back inside, everyone except Nick and Sara had returned to the table. They were chatting animatedly about something when soft music filled the room. From all over, people coupled up and walked onto the dance floor.

"May I?" Brass turned to Sofia, offering his hand.

She smiled, taking it. "You may."

As they headed toward the dance floor, Warrick and Tina followed suit, rising from their seats to join them.

The three remaining teammates watched as more people gathered onto the floor. Grissom's eyes searched the crowd, looking for the person he wanted to dance with. As he turned his gaze toward the balcony, his heart sunk. He'd found her, but she was already dancing with someone else. He turned away, disappointed, then noticed that Catherine had a similar look on her face. Her eyes were downcast. He looked to where she'd been staring and found that she had been watching Warrick and Tina. He suddenly felt sorry for her. For himself. They were two lonely souls who shared the same feelings of longing and regret.

"Catherine?" Grissom's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "May I have this dance?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "Of course."

_I think about the years I spent just passing through  
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you  
But you just smile and take my hand  
You've been there you understand  
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true_

_Every long lost dream led me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true  
That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you_

Grissom looked down at his dance partner, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Catherine felt his eyes on her and looked up at him. She smiled back as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She threw her own arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing.

_Now I'm just rolling home  
Into my lover's arms  
This much I know is true  
That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you_

A few couples over, Nick and Sara had found themselves in a similar embrace. Nick held her tight, smiling down at her. And she smiled back.

_God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you…

* * *

_

That evening, when the party was through, everyone filed out of the ballroom, saying their goodbyes. The graveyard shift CSIs walked outside together, chatting about the night's events. Several colleagues said goodbye to them as they passed the group and headed toward their own cars. But Grissom and his team were not ready to leave each other's company just yet, so the group stood to the side, letting cars pass as they continued to talk and laugh.

Greg was about to give his input on what he thought of the party, when something caught his attention. A young woman had just turned the corner and was running down the sidewalk opposite the Tangiers' parking lot. The girl look terrified.

"Hey, guys!" Everyone turned to the young CSI. "I think that girl's in trouble."

He pointed across the street and they turned around to see what he was talking about. The girl stopped to look behind her, took a breath, then kept running. As she ran past the lot, she finally noticed that she was being watched.

"Someone, help me, please!" she screamed, running into the street toward them. "Please, help me! He's after me!"

"Miss, what's going on?" Grissom called, stepping forward.

"You gotta help me, please! He's gonna kill me!"

"Who?"

Before she could answer and before any of them could react, tires screeched not too far away and a dark SUV came speeding out of nowhere. They all watched in horror as the vehicle barreled right into the young woman, ran her over, and sped away into the night. The girl's body lay motionless on the gravel, her limbs twisted and bent in ways not humanly possible.

Catherine gasped.

"O my god!" Sara's hand flew over her mouth.

They raced over to the unconscious woman, careful not to disturb the scene. Grissom immediately put his fingers to her neck then shook his head sadly.

"She's dead."

Sofia began calling in officers to clear the scene and direct traffic while Brass phoned the ME's office.

"Did anyone catch the license plate of that SUV?" Grissom asked his team.

Although usually very observant, being CSIs and all, none of them had caught a glimpse of the license plate. It was too dark and it had all happened so fast.

"What the heck is going on out here!?" Ecklie asked, bursting onto the scene.

He had been at the party as well, but had maintained a low profile until then.

Grissom turned to face him, a very serious look on his face.

"Traffic was murder."

* * *

**So, whaddaya think? Want more? You know you do…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, everybody! Here's another chapter! Thanx 4 all the reviews!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

_Flash!_ Greg, still in his nice suit, photographed the dead girl lying facedown in the middle of the street. Her short, blonde hair was matted with blood and dirt and partially hid her face. Her clothing—a short, red dress—was stained with blood and bits of dirt from the road. It was close to midnight. Ground fog was beginning to roll in.

Nick was shining his flashlight around the area, noting skid marks left behind by the mysterious SUV. The flashing red and blue lights of the squad cars that had surrounded the crime scene lit up the faces of curious onlookers. Many of them pulled the collars of their coats up against the evening chill.

_Flash!_ Greg captured the girl's flattened purse, a broken heel, and a piece of a shattered headlight.

Warrick was escorting his wife toward one of the cruisers, ordering the officer to take her home. The officer complied, opening the door for her.

"So, this is what you do everyday?" Tina asked, glancing over her husband's shoulder at the crime scene.

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Be careful." She hugged him, giving him a peck on the cheek, then got into the car.

Warrick waved goodbye as they drove off.

_Flash!_ Greg took a shot to show the location of the body in relation to the crime scene.

Grissom was standing off to one side, busy giving Det. Vartann his accountant of what had happened that night.

"Well, I'll never get an eyewitness accountant like this," Vartann chuckled, taking down notes as the CSI supervisor spoke.

Grissom gave him a wry smile as he continued his very detailed story.

_Flash! Flash!_ Greg captured a field of debris: one of the girl's boots, the contents of her purse, and shards of glass that littered the road.

Catherine and Sara were standing behind the Denali, changing out of their dresses and into the blue CSI jumpsuits. Some of the guys stole glances at them as they changed, but the girls didn't seem to notice and quickly finished changing, throwing their dresses and uncomfortable shoes into the back of the SUV.

"Hey, Greg, did you get a shot of these tire tracks?" Nick asked, crouched down a few feet from the body.

"Got it," the young CSI replied, working his way toward him.

Warrick met him with a piece of headlight in his gloved hand. "Better bag this."

Greg pulled an evidence bag from his kit and dropped the piece of plastic inside. "It should be a piece of cake tracking down that SUV with all the trace it left behind."

Warrick and Nick nodded in agreement.

Dave was crouched down beside the body, gently probing in certain areas. He was jotting down a few notes when Grissom walked up to him.

"Find anything?" the CSI supervisor asked.

"Well, most of her injuries are consistent with being hit by a car."

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Why don't you try telling me something I don't know?"

Taking that as his cue to show him what else he'd found, the ME reached over to the girl's left pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. "I found this in her pocket," he explained, handing it over to Grissom.

He unfolded it gingerly, not wanting to rub off any trace or fingerprints, and a small, shiny object slipped out from inside. Dave caught it before it hit the ground and handed it to him.

"It's a key," Grissom said, turning it around in his fingers several times, studying it. Then his eyes went back down to the paper. His eyebrow went up again. In somewhat neat, loopy handwriting it read:

_She means nothing._

"What does it say?" Dave asked curiously, staring up at him.

Grissom reread it then answered, "I'm not sure, but I have a feeling that whoever did this isn't done."

* * *

"Pretty girl," Dr. Al Robbins said as Grissom and Catherine walked up to the worktable the ME was standing by. "You figure out who she is, yet?"

Both CSIs shook their heads.

Robbins turned to pick something up from the table behind him. "Here, maybe these will help." He handed Grissom a card with the girl's fingerprints on it.

"Thanks."

"So, what have we got?" Catherine asked, eyeing the body.

Robbins carefully removed the sheet from the girl's body, revealing her injuries. He shook his head. "You know, I'd have a better chance of showing you what _isn't_ broken on this girl." He took hold of one of her arms and lifted it gently. "Both arms shattered." His gloved hands moved down to her waist. "Torso twisted like a corkscrew."

The two CSIs listened intently as the ME reached the girl's legs.

"Broken leg, crushed kneecap."

Catherine made a painful face. "Ouch."

Robbins chuckled then rotated the girl's right leg for a closer view of a particular injury. Both CSIs looked closely at the deformed leg.

"These superficial tears indicate overstruction of the skin. The impact on the right side of the body forced her tissue mass to the opposite side."

Grissom inclined his head, understanding. "So the skin expanded to compensate for the pressure."

The ME nodded. "Precisely."

Catherine leaned over the body for a closer look then suddenly started sniffing it, something strange catching her attention.

"What are you doing?" Grissom asked.

"Huh?" Catherine looked up at her colleagues and found them staring at her like she'd grown antennae and a third eye. She backed away as if she'd been caught committing a crime. "Oh, sorry. Do you smell that?"

Grissom went in for a sniff. "She smells like garlic."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Dr. Robbins said. "So, I sent a sample of her blood to tox."

Grissom's eyebrows shot up. "Are you thinking arsenic?"

The ME nodded. "Most likely. Check out her nails."

Catherine gently picked up one of the girl's hands and studied the fingernails. Familiar white lines ran across all of them. "Mee's lines. Indicative of heavy metal poisoning."

"We'll know for sure when we get the tox results back. But if my suspicions are right, even if that car didn't hit her, she still would've eventually died."

"Sounds to me like someone was getting impatient," Grissom said, deep in thought.

"So what killed her?" Catherine asked, looking up at the ME. "The car or the poison?"

Robbins wagged his head. "The poison was definitely not the cause of death. This girl died because she was hit by a car. Plain and simple."

* * *

Meanwhile, Nick and Sara had traced the key that their supervisor had found back to a gentleman's club a few blocks from the crime scene. They immediately headed there to follow up, Brass in tow.

A big, gorilla of man guarding the door was there to greet them when they got there. Brass flashed his badge and the man looked the three over with a sneering, judgmental eye before letting them through. After a quick talk with the bartender, they were led backstage where the owner of the club was mingling with the dancers.

"Ya got one heck of a welcoming committee," Brass said as they marched up to him.

The man chuckled. "You mean, Carl, my bouncer? Don't let his size fool you, guy wouldn't hurt a fly." The club owner held out his hand. "Freddie Wilson. I'm the owner of this place."

"Yeah, we got that." Brass flashed his badge again and the club owner suddenly tensed, letting his arm drop to his side.

Freddie cleared his throat, uneasy. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know what this is?" Sara said, waving the key in his face.

He nodded slowly. "That's a key to one of the dancer's lockers. Did something happen to one of my girls?"

"Well, that depends," Nick said pulling a photo of their victim out of a folder. "Is she one of your girls?"

The man stared at the picture, the color drained from his face. "Y-yeah, that's Casey—Casey Farell."

Freddie led them to a row of lockers farther backstage and paused by one at the far end. "This is—_was_—Casey's locker."

Nick examined the locker door then using the key, he turned the latch and opened it. Sara stuck her head inside for a look. Nothing out of the ordinary. She pulled her head back out and she and Nick moved quickly and carefully, emptying the contents bit by bit, coat by costume, by dance shoes, into evidence bags on the floor.

The club owner stood by and watched, a little anxious. "What are you looking for?"

"Whatever we find," Nick said, as the CSIs continued to work.

* * *

Grissom sat in his office, pondering what they had learned from the doc while Catherine went over to another room to run the girl's prints through AFIS. He thumbed through the autopsy report, seeing in his mind all that had happened that previous evening.

His thoughts were interrupted when his cell phone began to ring. He quickly unfolded it and put it up to his ear.

"Grissom."

"Hey, Gris, it's Nick," the younger CSI's voice greeted on the other end. "We were able to trace that key you found to a gentleman's club not far from the crime scene, the Paradise Gardens Club. Owner recognized the vic, identified her as a Casey Farell."

"Good work."

"Bad news is, that's all we found out. We ran into a dead end. We couldn't find anything here that suggests that someone would've wanted her dead. It doesn't make sense."

"Keep looking, there's gotta be something."

"Will do. See ya, Gris."

"Bye, Nick."

Grissom put his phone away and looked back down at his desk where he'd laid the report he'd been reading. His gaze suddenly shifted to a piece of paper lying underneath the folder, its corners peeking out from behind it. How could he have not noticed it before?

He picked it up carefully and examined it. It was plain, white paper, no fancy labels, no obvious identifiers, nothing to call attention—

He froze momentarily as his eyes fell on what was written on it:

_**UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU TO INVESTIGATE THIS.

* * *

**_

**Oo…what does that mean??? You'll find out soon…but ya gotta review first!**


	3. Thursday Night

**Hey, look! Another chapter! All you Grillows fans out there, this one's for you! Thanx 4 all the reviews…enjoy!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

Grissom sat there for a moment, the note in his hand. A million questions were running through his mind. Who sent this? And Why? Why would someone want them to stop investigating? That was a stupid question. Obviously it could be the driver who had run over Casey Farell trying to stop the CSIs from finding him. But the guy had to know that a note wouldn't stop them. Maybe it wasn't him. But then who? And how did the note get on his desk in the first place?

All these questions swam through his mind, nagging at him to no end. He tossed the note onto his cluttered desk and stood from his seat. He needed to clear his mind. It was getting late and his brain was beginning to shut down from tiredness and lack of sleep. He decided to head to the break room for a cup of coffee. On the way there, he passed the layout room and spied one of his teammates in there, working.

When Grissom walked into the lab, he was greeted by the sight of a familiar woman bent over a workbench, her strawberry-blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail, making a slight contrast with her crisp white lab coat as she scrutinized a bloody blouse. She didn't look up as the door clicked shut behind him, and he stood for a moment, smiling at the expression of fierce concentration on her face.

"What are you grinning at, Gil?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the piece of evidence.

"Nothing, Catherine. Nothing at all. It's just nice to see someone so absorbed in their work."

She gave a short "hmph," still not looking up, and Grissom's smile broadened. Catherine was one of the best CSIs at the lab, and for years she had been his right hand. In that time he'd come to appreciate her passion for the job, her limitless capacity for hard work, and her sharp intelligence. But most of all, he valued her warm and generous spirit. She might be pretending to ignore him right now, but they'd been through enough tough stuff through the years for him to know that she would drop everything—even an important case like they were working on—if he needed her.

"So what's up, Gil? Did the results from tox come in?"

"Not yet," he replied, watching as she returned the blouse to the plastic evidence bag on the table. "But we do have a name—Casey Farell. She was a dancer at a club a few blocks from the scene."

The strawberry-blonde CSI was still hard at work, writing something down, obviously only half-listening. "That's nice."

Grissom arched an eyebrow, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Have you been here all this time?"

"Yeah…" She stifled a yawn. "I've been looking through that girl's personal effects." She gestured toward the other half of the table. "Haven't found much."

Grissom glanced at the rest of the table and only then did he notice that most of the tabletop was covered in various items apparently from the girl's purse. "Wow, they weren't kidding. Women do carry their entire lives in their bags."

Catherine smiled, but her eyes were tired. Grissom suddenly felt terrible for her. He'd had her practically working day in and day out lately, pulling doubles and triples. She needed some rest. He'd tell her about the mysterious note later.

She was scanning through several papers in a manila folder when he came up to her and took the folder from her hands. She looked up at him, confused and empty-handed.

He placed the folder back on the workbench, far from her reach. "Go home and get some sleep," he smiled softly, squeezing her arm.

"But I have to finish—"

"Catherine..."

They held stares.

"Fine." Catherine held her hands up in defeat, yawning again.

She brushed past him out of the layout room and headed straight for the locker room. Grissom followed close behind to make sure she'd get off okay. She pulled her jacket out of her locker and swept up her belongings, paying no attention to her "shadow." Once she was sure she had everything, she took her keys out of her bag and headed for the front entrance.

Grissom waved goodbye as she headed out the door. "Goodnight, Catherine."

"Night, Gil…" She tried to hold back another yawn as she disappeared into the night.

* * *

A few hours later, Grissom left the lab and began the drive home. Although he repeatedly impressed the importance of sleep to the rest of his team, rest would not come easily for him. He had tried everything—from warm milk to sleeping pills—but nothing seemed to work. He would lie in bed day after day, wide-awake, thoughts running through his mind. And when the occasional moments of rest did come, he would spend the day tossing and turning.

It was the nightmares. They all had nightmares. In their line of work, who wouldn't? But his were getting worse. So much so that they were beginning to interfere with him even when he was awake. During those times when he'd find himself in his office, alone with his thoughts, the images would return. Haunting images that forced him to relive past and present cases. And try as he might, nothing could wash away the images.

Grissom dismissed the nightmarish thoughts with a sigh but they were only replaced by thoughts of their most recent case. The note they'd found on Casey's body came to mind.

_She means nothing._

To him, that meant she wasn't the killer's real target. She was just used to get their attention. So then, who was the killer really after? And that place…_Paradise Gardens Club_…why did that sound so familiar? He'd heard that name before, somewhere…

_Paradise Gardens Club._ He wracked his brain trying to come up with an answer. Something that Nick had said during their phone conversation earlier that evening flashed in his mind. The club owner had mentioned to the CSI that the victim reminded him of another dancer that used to work there years ago. She was young and beautiful. Quite the dancer. But she eventually moved on, wanting more of her life. She left that lifestyle behind and went back to school—wait a minute. _Paradise Gardens Club_…that's where Catherine used to—

His eyes widened and his heart pounded, the pieces of the puzzle coming together in his mind.

_Catherine!_

Panic ripped down his spine. But before he could do anything, his cell phone chirped loudly from the cup holder. He stared at the screen, recognizing the number. He picked it up, unfolded it, and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello? Catherine?"

There was no answer from the other line. All he could hear was static, then—

"Gil…"

"Catherine!"

The phone went dead.

He swore, throwing the phone onto the passenger seat. He hit the accelerator and sped toward his friend's house. He had a bad feeling.

He pulled onto her street five minutes later. He spotted the familiar house two doors up. He pulled up to the curb, shut off the engine, and glanced around. The neighborhood was pretty quiet then, what with most of the adults and children off at work or school. He walked to the front door. All the windows were dark. His panic grew.

The tree by the porch and the overgrown shrubs cast shadows on the lawn. Grissom thought he saw something move among the flowers next to the porch steps, but he told himself it was just his imagination; the breeze was moving the leaves. A morning newspaper featuring a front-page spread of one of their recent cases sat on the porch. He glanced at it, ringing the doorbell.

No answer.

He tried again. Nothing.

He pounded on the door and called out Catherine's name along with her daughter's and her mother's. Nothing. He glanced over at the driveway. Her car was there, but it seemed as though no one was home. Something wasn't right. He took the spare key from its hiding place, where Catherine had told him it would be, and let himself in. He opened the door and entered the dark hall of his friend's home.

He quickly found the light switch and stood there a moment, blinking, as his eyes adjusted to the light. There were no signs of any criminal activity so far that he could see. Everything was in its proper place, undisturbed.

"Catherine!" Grissom called becoming frantic. "Catherine, where are you?"

There was no answer.

He swept through the house, checking every area. He was about to head toward the bedrooms when a strange sound caught his attention. He jerked his head around at the sound.

Something bumped against a door nearby to his right. The hall closet. A chair was propped up against it, holding it shut.

_Thump, thump, thump. _A muffled cry.

Grissom's body went rigid.

"Is someone there?" a voice wept. He could barely make out the words. "Pleeease!"

He stepped toward the closet, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Catherine?"

"Gil?" the voice whimpered. "Uncle Gil?"

"Lindsey?"

A fist thumped into the door. "Uncle Gil! Help me!" Lindsey's muffled voice cried.

Grissom dashed toward the closet, threw the chair aside, and opened the door. The moment the girl saw him she fell into his arms, sobbing.

"Lindsey, are you okay?" he asked, taking her in both arms. "What happened?"

"She—she's gone!" she sobbed, pointing at something on the floor. "He took her! He took my mom…"

He held the girl protectively, letting her cry into his chest, as he looked to where she had been pointing. His eyes widened. A gun and a single, tiny bullet lay in a small pool of blood a few feet away. Someone had shot the female CSI then kidnapped her!

Grissom felt his heart begin to break in stages, like a building being brought down by demolition. He saw the room tilt as his mind began to shut down.

Lindsey trembled in his arms, the terrifying images still fresh in her mind. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but his nerves were so shot that he was at a loss. All he could do was stroke her hair, forcing back the knot in his own throat.

* * *

In the deep, cold darkness of unfamiliar surroundings, there was no light, no sight, and no sound--except for a strange humming, rumbling sound in the distance like a car engine.

Catherine heard nothing. She didn't stir.

* * *

**Ooh…lotsa drama in this one. What happens next? Review to find out…**


	4. Friday Morning

**Hey, here's another chappie! Sorry, I haven't updated in a while. With the holidays approaching, it's been so busy at work. I'm soooo tired! Plus, this website's been acting funny. Couldn't upload anything for a while. Anyway, thanx 4 all the reviews! Enjoy!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

Within thirty minutes the crime scene was isolated and a full investigation launched, all under the careful supervision of one Capt. Jim Brass. But seeing his friend under these circumstances did nothing to calm Grissom's already shattered nerves.

The familiar yellow tape surrounded their friend's home, and within it several officers and Grissom's own team of CSIs combed the premises for evidence. A news van was parked outside, but knowing Brass, he probably wouldn't let them anywhere near the crime scene.

Nick and Warrick worked carefully inside the house, examining the gun and bullet and searching for any evidence that may have been left behind by the attacker. Greg remained outside, keeping a lookout for footprints as he checked the perimeter for any signs of forced entry.

The graveyard shift supervisor saw it all without taking note. His mind was on Catherine. He couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. His worst nightmares had become reality. A madman, who had the forethought and malice, had shot her then abducted her. Grissom had spilled his story to his team the moment they'd arrived. And by the way they had listened to him intently, he was sure they were feeling the same way he was. They wanted the same thing: to find their friend and the weasel who had done this to her.

Grissom stood by the porch steps, alone. Lindsey had gone with Sara back to the lab for processing and questioning. Before the two girls had left, he'd assured the young teen that everything would be okay and that he'd be there for her if she needed him. He'd already managed to lose the girl's mother; he wasn't going to lose her, too.

Brass kept glancing at his friend as he debriefed his officers and took statements from witnesses. Grissom looked back into the house where his team was working. He took a deep breath, and walked back inside.

Warrick was crouched by the small blood pool and was in the process of collecting the bullet. He looked up at his supervisor, clearly upset and confused.

"What did you find?"

"This bullet did _not_ come from this gun." Grissom quirked an eyebrow as the younger CSI showed him both items. "The gun is a .38, but the bullet is a 9mm. I'm no ballistics expert, but I know a .38 can't fire a 9mm. What do you make of it?"

The CSI supervisor stared at the items, a hint of recognition flashing in his eyes. "It's a message."

"What kind of message?"

"I don't—I'm not sure, yet."

Warrick gave him a strange look then went back to work, dropping the bullet into an evidence bag.

Grissom glanced over at Nick and watched him place tape over a dusted fingerprint on the door of the hall closet, lift it, and seal the faint print on a card. He made a few notations on the card and went back to work with his flashlight.

"The only prints we've found so far are in places where we would expect to find Catherine's or Lindsey's." Nick shrugged. "Guy like this isn't stupid enough not to wear gloves, but you never know. Even the smartest make mistakes eventually."

"Well, let's hope he made one."

Nick nodded in agreement.

They were all holding resolutely to a whisper of hope that maybe their friend was still alive. Maybe her captor would keep her alive as leverage. But either way, he'd lost her. Grissom had made a promise to himself never to leave her, and although he hadn't exactly, she was gone, maybe dead, maybe just locked up…

* * *

Catherine's eyes jerked open.

She could barely see anything. She was in a dimly lit room, on her side, feeling pain from her ribs, her shoulders, her limbs. She tried to lift her right arm, but quickly brought it back down as a sharp pain shot through it. She winced and vaguely remembered being shot at by...someone. She lifted her sleeve to examine the wound and found that it had been bandaged up. Her brow furrowed. Her abductor wanted her alive. But why?

She glanced around the room, slowly and carefully pulling herself up. The room was filled with junk, the only light provided by a single window to the left where the sunlight streamed in. A door stood on the other side of the room presenting itself as the only exit. She made her way toward it and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. The door opened with a slight push. She glanced around. She was in some kind of warehouse, but judging from the thick layer of dust that coated everything, it hadn't been used in years. And it seemed her captor was nowhere to be found…but there was no way to be sure.

She instinctively reached down to the holster on her belt, but her gun was gone. Her captor had taken it away while she was unconscious. She stepped back into the room and looked for anything she could use as a weapon. A rusted, old pipe lying next to the wall caught her attention. She snatched it up then cautiously stepped out into the rest of the cavernous building. She gripped her makeshift weapon tight, ready to swing it at so much as a rat if it dared to move. As she slid from one corridor to the next, she listened for any sound. Her attacker could still be there.

She moved toward what she thought was the front of the building, eyes wide open, weapon ready. She came to a large open space, swept it visually, and dashed across. That's when she saw it.

Sunlight was streaming in through tiny cracks in one of the walls. She spotted a doorway leading outside the building. Moving quickly yet warily, she made a beeline for it. She had only gotten halfway there when the doorway suddenly filled with the dark shape of a man.

"Ah, you're awake…"

* * *

**Uh oh, what's going on? Keep on reading _and_ reviewing to find out! Your reviews inspire me!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, ya'll! Another chapter for all my faithful readers. Thanx 4 all the reviews!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

Catherine's grip tightened on the rusty pipe. She couldn't move other than to tremble slightly. She was a little girl again, facing her worst nightmare. Trapped. The figure moved. An intense pain rippled through her as a pair of incredibly strong hands grabbed her arm and throat. The pipe clattered to the ground.

"It must be my lucky day," her captor sneered. "I got the big prize."

He dragged her into another room and threw her onto an old, tattered bed. He went over to a bag sitting in the corner, opened it, and began rifling around in it.

"I can't do anything to that boss of yours while he's still useful to us." His voice was disturbingly calm. "But nobody said anything about _you_."

Catherine's world spun. She began to sob quietly, frozen to her spot in fear. The man returned, holding a rope.

"W—what are you doing?"

"I'm going to give your friend a little incentive to make him work faster." He grabbed her and pushed her down into a lying position. Tied her wrists tight. Then her ankles.

"Please…"

* * *

"Hey, Gil," Brass said, knocking on the doorframe of the CSI supervisor's office. "My guys were able to track down that SUV. GMC Yukon. Found it abandoned on the Strip."

Grissom's head shot up. "Did you find the driver?"

The police captain shook his head. "Nope. The car's registered to a Jason Nolen, but he's not our guy. He's been out of town. His wife reported the car stolen a couple of days ago."

Grissom sighed, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. Another dead end.

"Warrick and Greg are down in the garage processing it as we speak. Maybe they'll find something that'll give us a clue to the thief's identity."

Grissom smiled a small, sad half smile. Well, that was something. Not a lot, but something.

"You okay?" Brass asked, sensing his friend's frustration.

Grissom turned away from him. The grin disappeared. He looked like he wanted to cry.

Brass' gaze softened. "We'll find her, Gil. No one's going to rest until we do."

Grissom lifted his head, a tiny hint of hope in his eyes. "Thanks."

"Gris!" It was Nick, hollering from the hallway. "Grissom!"

"Didn't you get Archie's page?" Warrick asked.

"What?" Grissom glanced at his cell phone and only now realized that he had a new message. He had been so preoccupied, he hadn't noticed his phone go off.

"He says he's got something we need to see," Greg explained, insistent and excited. "It's about Catherine!"

That got Grissom's attention. He jumped out of his seat and hurried to follow them, leaving Brass alone in the hallway.

* * *

They all made their way over to Archie's domain, the A/V lab, and found him scowling at his computer. The screens were all displaying the same thing: the form of a man pacing back-and-forth in a small room, his identity hidden by the shadows.

"Hey, Archie, what's up?" Greg asked as they all eyed the computer screens curiously.

"Don't ask me." Archie gestured toward the computer, clearly annoyed. "Ask _him_."

A deep, ominous voice suddenly drew their attention.

"Hello, Grissom." The man on the screen had stopped moving and looked straight at them through what was probably some kind of webcam. "How are you doing, my old friend?"

Everyone cast Grissom a strange look, but the world around the him had faded. His mind focused on the voice coming from the computer.

"I'm sorry. I don't think—"

"You don't remember me, do you? I knew you'd forget, you stupid brick."

"I don't know who you think you are, but I don't have a clue what you're talking—"

"Don't be stupid!" the man yelled.

"Who is this?"

"You like a good mystery, don't you, Grissom?"

"I don't know what—"

"You know," the man was speaking calmly again. "I thought about killing you, but I've decided this will be much better." He paused and made a soft sound that sounded like a moan. "I think I have something of yours."

The man fidgeted then crossed out of sight and off camera, leaving them a direct view of an old bed. Everyone's eyes widened. Catherine was strapped to the bedposts by her wrists and ankles. Still in the clothes she'd been wearing the previous night. She was shaking with sobs.

Grissom stared, momentarily overwhelmed.

He didn't know what had reduced Catherine to the quivering form on the bed, but it occurred to him that he was shaking too. With revulsion.

Not just revulsion. With rage.

* * *

**Oo…he's mad! Kinda short, I know. But it's got plenty of drama, don't ya think? **

**Reviews always welcome!**


	6. Saturday

**Hey, look another chapter! It's got a little treat for all you Snickers fans out there! Thanx 4 all the reviews…they rock!**

**Spoilers: Grave Danger**

**

* * *

**

The man grinned wickedly, his dark figure filling the screen once again. "You have three days."

Grissom couldn't speak. He could hardly comprehend what he'd seen. He stared, mind numb.

"Three days to do _what_?" Warrick responded for him, the anger apparent in his voice.

"Three days to give me what I want…or someone else will disappear!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Three days, Mr. Grissom. Starting…now." The screen blinked, and a somewhat familiar image replaced the webcam feed.

"Is that—?" Archie stared at the screen, eyebrows raised. It was a golden statue of a blindfolded woman holding a sword and set of scales.

There was complete silence as everyone tried to process what had just happened. One of their own had become a victim. It wasn't unheard of, but it was definitely something none of them would ever be used to dealing with.

"The goddess Themis," Grissom finished for the lab tech. His voice quavered though he tried to control it. "The scales represent balance, the sword force, and the blindfold keeps her free of anything that could influence a fair and lawful decision." He closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "She's the universal symbol of the justice system."

"He wants justice," Nick said, understanding.

"For what?" Sara asked.

Grissom stared ahead and then turned to them. "I—I don't know."

His own response startled him. He'd run out of answers. And if he couldn't find one soon, that madman would surely make him pay for it with his best friend's life. He touched his head, feeling another migraine coming on. He couldn't handle this right now. There was too much to take in. Without another word, he pushed his way through the group and rushed out of the room.

"Can you figure out where that guy was transmitting from?" Greg asked, turning to the lab tech.

"It's not gonna be easy," Archie answered, already typing away at his computer. "Guy's no amateur. Hacked his way into the system, which is not easy."

"But you _can_ trace it, can't you?"

"Oh, yeah. This guy's good…but I'm better!"

"Thanks, man." Nick patted him on the shoulder then followed the rest of the team out of the room.

* * *

Grissom, head buried in a case file, deep in thought, nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam Braun barged into his office. He pulled his glasses off and looked up to find the casino owner also known as Catherine's father glaring daggers him.

"Can I help you?"

"Mr. Grissom, what the heck is going on?" Sam demanded, marching into the room. "What are you trying to pull?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom stared at him, taken back.

"Don't give me that crap!" Sam stepped toward him, aware that he'd crossed a line already. "They said Catherine's kidnapper contacted you. And apparently you two know each other. So who is he, huh?"

"We don't—I don't know."

"I wanna know who he is, _now_!" Sam growled, angrily. "Who kidnapped my baby girl?"

He saw the CSI slam his pen down onto his desk and he took a step back.

Grissom looked up at him with a wild-eyed stare. "I don't remember!"

"You don't _remember_? You're a hot shot when it comes to all your forensics crap, but you can't remember a stupid name? That scumbag is going to _kill_ her if you don't find her soon!"

"Don't you think I know that? You didn't see what that madman did to her! But _I_ did. Do you really think that I am so uncaring—so detached—that this wouldn't have some kind of impact on me?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly regretting his little outburst. "I'm sorry. I'm just...I don't know what to do."

Grissom's eyes were downcast. "I know how you feel."

Without another word, Sam turned and walked out the door, brushing past a curious Sara who'd been one her way to visit Grissom herself.

Sara arched any eyebrow as they both watched Sam's retreating figure.

"What was that all about?" she asked, turning to face her boss. "You okay?"

"He wanted to know about—about Catherine."

Their eyes met. And not for the first time Sara realized just how much her boss cared for his "right hand woman." The look in his eyes told her everything. He wanted her back as much as Sam did. Maybe more.

This case was more than a job for Grissom. Catherine's life was in danger. And Sara knew he couldn't continue the case without thinking about that single, terrible fact. None of them could.

No longer able to meet her supervisor's gaze, she turned away, her eyes glistening with tears.

"I want her back, too."

* * *

Sara slowly walked out of Grissom's office a few minutes later, thoughts of her fellow female CSI running through her mind. Catherine had done nothing but try to be her friend. But the younger woman had made it really hard.

They were always at each other's throats about one thing or another. And it was always Sara who had started it, taking out her frustrations and anger on the older CSI. But somehow, Catherine was able to put up with everything she had thrown at her. She took all of Sara's attitude and bad-mouthing and never said a word about it to their boss. Keeping them both out of trouble.

Sara couldn't help but think of the last thing she had said to Catherine before all this mess started. The older CSI had tried to tell her something important, but she just threw it in her face.

She suddenly felt bad. Catherine had always been there for her, trying to help her. She was like the big sister she never had. But she never saw it and practically managed to push her only friend away. Catherine didn't deserve what she'd put her through. She didn't deserve any of it.

She knew that now, and was more than eager to apologize. But it had taken her too long to finally realize everything, and now it might be too late…

* * *

Catherine sat cowering in the corner of the room, her clothes torn and dirty, her hair a matted mess. Her captor had thrown her back into her prison after his little webcam stunt. There was some food and water there now, set atop a pile of boxes in the middle of the room. But she didn't have much of an appetite after what he'd put her through.

She stared straight ahead as a kind of darkness sank into her, numbing her mind. She been in danger before and knew what fear was. She'd been on her own before and knew what it was like to be alone. But fear and loneliness were nothing compared to this. She'd been left with nothing but a dark, musty old room, a twisted psychopath using her for his sick game, nowhere to go, and now one to hear her cries for help.

A miracle would have been so welcome, an angel in a CSI vest to carry her out of this nightmare and to safety, to her daughter, to the lab and home.

But there was no angel, no miracle.

She sank against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. She just had to cry, so she let go, her hand over her mouth muffling her sobs. Who knew what that madman would to her if he heard her…

* * *

Sara wandered into the ballistics lab and spotted a familiar man seated in front of the computer, his deep, blue eyes glued to the screen. His brown hair was a little messy. He was wearing a white t-shirt with the Texas "lone star" symbol on it and a pair of faded blue jeans. The rugged look worked on him. Didn't look like the kind of man who'd be working in a crime lab. More like a man she'd expect to find featured in a fashion magazine. Especially with those eyes. Ouch.

_Whoa, where did that come from?_ She closed her eyes and swallowed. _No way. I couldn't possibly—hold on,_ _now is not the time, girl._ She quickly shook herself from her thoughts and walked up to the person that had been the subject of her momentary daydream.

"Hey, Nick. What're you up to?

"I've been running that gun and bullet through IBIS," he answered, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Hopefully, we'll find something. How's Grissom doing?"

"As well as can be expected." Sara sighed. "He's taking this pretty hard."

"So's Warrick. I think he's still got feelings for Catherine."

"How about you? How are you holding up?"

"I can only imagine what she must be going through right now." Nick paused, a distant look in his eyes. "Actually, I don't have to imagine. I've been there. I know what it's like to be trapped in some psycho's twisted game…"

Memories of being buried alive still haunted the Texan CSI. He had never been more afraid as the day he'd found himself trapped inside that glass prison. He laid there alone, shivering in the dark, wondering if he would get out of it alive. That box would have been his coffin had his friends not found him in time. He owed them his life. He owed Catherine his life. She was the one that had found him. The sound of her voice coming from up above was like music to his ears. And if that wasn't enough, she'd also been the one that had warned them of the bomb underneath the box. She'd saved him and everyone else from being blown sky high.

Nick opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure where all that came from."

Sara's face softened. "Don't be." She reached out her hand and put it on his arm. "I don't know what happened there, but I can see it left its mark on you."

He smiled at her, but she could see that his eyes were still haunted and sad. She fought back tears. She wished she could make it all go away. They had been able to save him, but he would live with this past until the day he died. And it would be the same for Catherine if they were able to save her.

"You know what though?" Nick said, thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Telling you about it makes me feel…good. I've never told anyone except the department quack."

Sara chuckled softly. "You just needed the right person."

Nick's smile broadened, but faded slightly when he got a good look at the woman beside him. There were dark circles under her eyes. How long had it been since she'd slept?

His eyes filled with concern. "_You_ okay?"

"Tired."

"Wanna grab a bite to eat? I think we could both use a break."

"Okay."

Nick stood up to follow Sara out of the room when the computer began beeping. They both whirled around. The gun had gotten a hit on IBIS!

Nick jumped back into his seat and studied the screen, Sara standing behind him looking over his shoulder.

"It says here that the gun is a match to one that was used in a robbery a few months ago down in…_Miami_."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "Now, how did that get all the way out here?"

* * *

**Wow…very emotional and angsty. Sorry, if I brought everyone down. Had to do it. Essential to the story… and it's also my forte. I usually write sad stuff.**

**Anyway, reviews always welcome! And btw, I loved this week's eppy. Catherine made me laugh!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone, here's another chapter! Thanx 4 the reviews!**

**Spoilers: Cross-jurisdictions

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**

"I think I may be able to answer that."

Both Nick and Sara jerked their heads around at the familiar voice and found Archie standing in the doorway, grinning at them. The tech led the two CSIs back to his lab where they met up with the rest of the team. Grissom, Warrick, and Greg were already there, pacing anxiously, waiting for Archie to tell them what he'd discovered.

"It took me a while, but I was finally able to trace that transmission," the lab tech explained. "Guy's really good. He had the signal bouncing off servers all over the world."

"What does that have to do with the gun?" Nick asked, confused.

"I was getting to that." Archie gestured for them to focus their attention on the big screen on the far wall. "I was able to narrow down the signal's origin to one location. Here, take a look."

As he spoke, a map of the world appeared on the screen. A single, bright red line bounced from country to country forming a spider web of sorts.

"Man, this guy did _not_ want to be found," Greg said, getting dizzy from following the line all over the place.

The line finally stopped moving and rested on one corner of the United States. Archie tapped a few keys to zoom in.

Sara arched an eyebrow. "Florida."

"Miami," Warrick clarified, recognizing the exact city where the line had stopped.

Grissom's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"

The young lab tech nodded. "Definitely. And if what you said about that gun is true, I'd say he's been there before."

"He _wants_ us to chase him."

Everyone stared at the CSI supervisor as if he'd just grown a second head.

"It's the gun," he explained quickly. "He left it intentionally."

"He's taunting us," Greg said, understanding.

Sara nodded in agreement. "He's daring us to go after him."

"What do we do?"

Grissom scowled at them. "_We_ aren't doing anything. _I_ need to make a phone call."

With that, their supervisor rushed out the door and disappeared down the hallway. His team watched his retreating figure with curiosity. He was up to something.

* * *

Grissom marched into his office, shut the door, and snatched the phone off his desk. He knew what he had to do. He rifled through several files until he found the tiny piece of paper he was looking for—a business card. He quickly dialed the somewhat familiar phone number and a cheery, female voice answered.

"Hello, Miami-Dade Police Department. How may I help you?"

* * *

"Who do you think he's talking to?" Greg asked as he and the rest of the team walked past Grissom's office toward the layout room.

They could seem him through the open door talking intently to someone on the phone, but they couldn't make out what he was saying.

Sara and Nick shrugged their shoulders.

"I think I might have an idea," Warrick said, thoughtfully.

The other three stared at him, curious looks on their faces. He knew something they didn't. Warrick was familiar with the choice spring break destination and its crime lab. He'd gone there with Catherine several years ago following a lead in a missing persons case. They'd found the missing girl, Sasha Rittle, with the help of some of the local CSIs.

They became fast friends with their leader, a thoughtful, soft-spoken redhead named Lt. Horatio Caine. Warrick knew that if there was anyone in Miami that could help them find Catherine, it was Horatio.

The group finally made their way into the layout room and went to work. Nick sat a computer and called up the IBIS database. It was still running the mysterious bullet through the system, trying to find a match. The other three surrounded the table.

Sara sifted through some files, studying reports and crime scene photos. She set aside a stack of cards containing the fingerprints Nick had collected at their friend's house. They'd run them all through AFIS and most were a match to Catherine and her daughter, Lindsey. There were some partials that could have been the kidnapper's, but there were no hits on AFIS.

The other two were looking through evidence bags and boxes, reexamining what little evidence they had. The gun was there along with a sample of blood from the blood pool. They'd sent it to the DNA lab and confirmed that the blood was Catherine's. She definitely had been shot, but didn't bleed much. Which meant that her injury was not life threatening and that she would survive…at least for now.

Warrick glanced at a small evidence bag containing a few brown hairs. He'd found them on the driver's seat of the Yukon. Unfortunately, because there were no hits on CODIS, all the DNA lab could tell them was that they belonged to an unknown male. Other than that, the SUV was clean. No prints. No blood. Nothing.

Greg picked up another case file and thumbed through it. The file belonged to their first victim, Casey Farell. She was still part of the case. After all, this had all started with her murder. Maybe they'd missed something. He gazed at one of the crime scene photos he'd taken. There had to be a clue in there somewhere…

Footsteps in the hallway suddenly caught their attention. They all looked up from what they were doing just as their supervisor walked through doorway.

"What's up, boss?" Greg asked, putting the file down.

"I've just finished speaking to one of the CSIs at the Miami Crime Lab," Grissom explained. "He knows Catherine and is more than willing to help find her."

Warrick smiled knowingly. "Horatio."

Grissom nodded and glanced at his watch. "So, I'm going to be taking a little trip."

"You are?" Sara's eyebrows shot up. "When? You can't just leave."

"I'll be catching a flight to Miami tomorrow morning to join Lt. Caine and to share what little information we have on this guy."

"But what about us?" Nick asked.

"I have to do this on my own. It's my responsibility. Besides, I don't need to lose anyone else on my team. So, while I'm away, Warrick's in charge."

Sara, Nick, and Greg all gave a short "hmph." Why did Warrick always get to be in charge when both Grissom and Catherine were gone?

"You better do as he says," Grissom warned, eyeing each of them. "And please, try not to give him a hard time."

"No worries, Gris," Warrick assured him. "I can handle these clowns."

That comment elicited a soft chuckle from Grissom and a playful shove from the others.

Grissom's smile broadened. It was nice to see that they were still able to find humor amidst all that was going on. It was just what they needed to clear their heads.

As he continued to watch the playful banter that had erupted among the three younger CSI's, the expression on his face turned into one of determination.

"It's time to go to the beach!"

* * *

**Yes! The first crossover is coming soon! Keep those reviews coming!**


	8. Sunday

**Hey, Merry Christmas! Here's another chapter! My present to you for all the great reviews!**

**Spoilers: None

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**

That night, Grissom tossed and turned in a fitful attempt to sleep. His nightmares had become worse than ever. Horrifying scenarios of what could happen to his friend if he didn't find her time kept running through his mind. He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the glowing clock on his bedside table. The night had come and gone and he'd gotten very little sleep. He wrestled off the sheets and slid to the floor. He quickly got dressed, had a cup of coffee, and left the house with an overnight bag in hand.

The morning air felt cool on his clammy skin. Four o'clock. The underworld, which he was very familiar with, was undoubtedly still stirring. The night crawlers were only now making their return to wherever it was they came from.

The flight to Miami left on time and early that morning. After making his way through tons of security, he promptly boarded his flight. He squeezed into his seat and moments later, the plane took off with a roar. He spent most of the flight reading through current case files. Once in a while, he would take a break to rest his eyes and gazed out the window. He watched the multicolored desert pass by below as his mind went to his friend. 

The anger he felt at everything that had happened had grown through the night. He felt bitterness toward the man who had stomped into his life uninvited. He couldn't remember a time when he was so upset like this. The anger had become so strong that thoughts of killing the man ran through his mind.

_Don't be absurd._ He closed his eyes. _You aren't a killer._ He could never kill another human in cold blood. He couldn't line up a man in the gun's sights and send a slug through his head without a second thought. That was the kind of man he was. His job was to stop killers, not become one. Besides, what was he going to do, shoot the computer if the guy contacted them again? The man was too good to walk into danger. It would be hard to lure him into a confrontation.

Grissom pulled his eyes away from the window and did his best to put the idea from his mind. It was going to be hard to keep his emotions in check on this case, but he had to at least try. He had to keep it together…for Catherine's sake.

* * *

For one fleeting moment, Catherine felt a sweet happiness. She was sitting in Grissom's office and they were talking and laughing with each other like they used to do. Sunlight streamed into the room from an unseen source, and strangely, it didn't seem to bother her. Whether she had a new case or would be stuck in the lab doing paper work, it was just fine, maybe for the first time in her life.

But that moment was only a dream, and when she jerked awake in a musty, old room, the images slipped away from her, leaving nothing but a sad sense of loss.

It was morning. She couldn't remember what day it was or how many days she'd been in that place, wherever that place was. But as she shook off the sleep, something seemed different, enough to make her go up to the door and press her ear to it to listen for her captor.

It was quiet. Was he gone? Had he left her?

She listened once more then reached for the doorknob. Her fingers had barely touched it when someone came up behind her and pushed her against the door.

"Don't even think about it!"

She closed her eyes, hearing a gun cock next to ear.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I love to hurt little girls like you."

"You make me sick."

"Shut up!" The man pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of her head, but didn't fire. "You're lucky. I'm not ready to kill you…yet."

He pulled her off the door and roughly threw her to the ground. He looked down at her, grinning with sick pleasure, then headed out the door.

"You better pick yourself up from there. You'll be having company soon."

* * *

Before Grissom knew it, they'd landed at Miami International Airport. More determined than ever to find his best friend, he quickly found and retrieved what little belongings he'd brought with him then began making his way out of the terminal.

Near the exit a man in a sharp suit and dark pants, fiddling with a pair of sunglasses in his hands, was there to greet him.

"Dr. Grissom…" The tall redhead looked up at him, a twinkle in his eye.

"Welcome, to Miami."

* * *

**Sorry to leave you hanging there, but I just love suspense! Anyway, reviews always welcome!**

**Author's note: I'm going to be taking a break from this story for a couple of weeks, so there won't be any updates for a while. But while you wait, feel free to read the Christmas and New Year's stories that I'll post soon. Right now, I have a little something posted for CSI and there's also a short story in the CSI: NY area.**

**Oh, and I have a special treat for all of you for the next chapter of this story. So keep a look out in January! See ya'll next year!**


	9. Author's Note

Hey, yall! I'm back! Thanx 4 all the reviews! Sorry, it took me a while. I've been recovering from the holidays…Anyway, you're probably wondering what kind of surprise I had. Well, I don't know if you'd really call it a surprise, but I decided that since this is a crossover story, we are going to follow the CSIs wherever they go.

**So, the next part of this story can be found in the CSI: Miami fanfic area. It's under the title "Triple Trouble." **

**Well, don't just sit there. Get a move on and check it out! You do wanna know what happens next, don't you?**


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